One Headlight
by Departed
Summary: Faberry Week - Day 1. When Rachel finds herself stranded in the outskirts of Arizona, she has no other choice but to ask Quinn for help, and thus begins their impromptu road trip back to Lima.


**Title: **One Headlight

**Rating: **K+

**Pairing: **Quinn/Rachel, mentions of Finchel

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing

**A/N: **This was such a bitch to write. I had originally planned on writing a oneshot for every day of Faberry week, but this took up so much of my time that I'll just have to stick with one or two more prompts. They won't be nearly as long. I'm really not used to writing more than eight thousand words at a time.

Anyway, this takes place the summer after junior year. Let me know what you guys think :) And happy Faberry week!

* * *

Rachel clasps the cup tightly around her fingers, peering down at her drink in silent contemplation as the minutes tick by. She ponders how exactly she's arrived under her current circumstances – sitting precariously in a lonely old diner with a cup of orange juice on the table in front of her, exactly twenty three dollars to her name and a rough, but thankfully confirmed, idea of where in the outskirts of Arizona she's residing in. There's little to no indication of the name of the small town Rachel came across. It's essentially hidden from the rest of society, upholding a population count close to that of Lima's, and that alone is saying a great deal. It was only after she had managed to momentarily calm down, lift her head up, and put on her trademark Berry smile that she was able to ask a stranger about her whereabouts, as well as shed a tear or two to convince the man that she was in desperate need of money.

She had also needed a phone, but that wasn't nearly as difficult as finding someone to call. Considering her numbers and emergency contact information are listed in her cellphone – which she no longer has – it was a challenge trying to bring up at least one number in her panic-induced memory. She had brightened almost immediately upon hearing Kurt's voice on the other line, followed by Finn's own baffled greeting, and after brief explanations and exchanges of contacts, she formulated a plan.

Granted, it took a lot of convincing and it was nowhere near her first option, but she had later discovered it was her only alternative if she didn't want to remain stranded here for several more days.

And so Rachel waits, throwing quick glances at both the door and the clock that she is beginning to think doesn't work.

She hears the bell chime and her eyes instantaneously follow, settling on the figure hovering warily by the entrance, hazel eyes leveled directly at her. Rachel promptly lowers her gaze back to the table.

"Berry," a clipped tone cuts through her thoughts, and she's forced to look up into those same hazel eyes.

Rachel smiles, albeit nervously. "Quinn."

The former cheerleader stands to the side and studies her in indifference, causing Rachel to shift anxiously under the other girl's gaze. She isn't completely sure why her skin is prickling uneasily with nerves, or why the grip around her cup has tightened slightly over Quinn's intense scrutiny.

When Quinn finally sits down and looks at Rachel with an expectant arch of her eyebrow, the discomfort gradually dissolves.

She clears her throat. "Thank you, Quinn, for meeting up with me. I understand it must have taken a large amount of your time and energy to come down here, and under no circumstances were you obligated to, yet you did and I can't begin to describe how grateful I am –"

"Berry, just…" Quinn sighs, clenching her eyes shut before lifting them back up in restrained patience. "Just tell me what happened."

Rachel curls her bottom lip between her teeth before nodding slowly. "Well, as you may already know, I had made plans to visit several of my relatives in San Francisco just after school ended, only I was forced to delay them due to Nationals and such. As a result my airline tickets expired and, contrary to popular belief, my voice and talents have not gotten me far as of yet, which puts me at a limit to how much I can spend. Not to say that I am in any way struggling financially. My daddy makes a fair amount as a pediatrician…"

At Quinn's pointed look, Rachel pauses, quickly adding, "To put it mildly then, my car was stolen at roughly four miles from here, just around noon. I had stopped at a gas station to ask for directions and when I returned, it was gone, along with my keys, luggage, and just about every significant piece of document I own."

At this, Quinn's face morphs dramatically into a surprised frown. "Someone broke into your car?"

"Not especially," is Rachel's sheepish response. She can't help but duck her head. "I… didn't think the process would take more than two minutes, and so I left it running. Apparently the thief found this prudent enough to go on a hijacking spree."

"You…" Quinn trails off, not bothering to hide her eye roll. "I can't say I'm not surprised. You of all people would think twice before doing something so stupid."

Rachel huffs. "It was a simple mistake."

"You could take that as a compliment if you want."

"And still I find it mildly offending."

"Maybe because it's still extraordinarily stupid," Quinn testily urges, reaffirming her point with a glare. "This isn't Lima, Berry. And even then you don't just leave your money lying around expecting everyone to bypass it like good little civilians. And your _car_ –"

"It was a _mistake_," Rachel repeats heatedly.

Gritting her teeth, Quinn growls, "And look where that _mistake's _left you."

"Are you perhaps going to uphold your offer to help me?" the brunette snaps, feeling her resolve slip. "Otherwise, Quinn, I see no reason for you to be here."

Her words seem to have an effect on Quinn. She noticeably relaxes from her stiff posture as her face softens from a hard scowl to disinterest. She licks her lips, and Rachel is about to offer her the rest of her orange juice when the blonde asks, "How much money do you have?"

Rachel feels her cheeks flare up. "Twenty three."

"Dollars?"

She nods.

Quinn lets out an irritable sigh. "I'm guessing that's all you have."

"If you're insinuating that I don't have any form of identification on me, then yes, you are correct," Rachel boldly declares, only to realize she doesn't feel anything of the sort. She's tired and beyond agitated with her predicament, not to mention humiliated that she has to ask Quinn Fabray of all people for help.

"If you don't mind me asking, Quinn," Rachel begins, tentatively wondering, "What a_re _you doing here? Mercedes told me you had left for Utah just a few days ago, and quite frankly I find it remarkable that you were only three hours away."

Rachel watches as her former enemy (frenemy?) lowers her eyes to the table in a visible act of hesitation, and they darken, so quickly that Rachel's almost certain she had imagined it. "Same as you, apparently," Quinn answers with a shrug to the shoulder. "Relatives."

And she says it so impassively that Rachel doesn't believe her. She decides not to probe further, however, knowing it would only heighten the already existing tension.

"I apologize for interrupting quality time with your family," Rachel says.

Quinn ignores her, leveling her gaze to her hands. "Did you report your car stolen?"

"My dads took care of it," Rachel responds, nodding, and lurches back in surprise when the other girl abruptly stands. She opens her mouth to ask what she's doing before Quinn picks up the slip of paper sitting beside her and slaps a five dollar bill on the table.

"It's getting late. We should get going."

Rachel blinks, unable to move even at the blonde's bidding. "And where would that be?"

"Home."

Bewilderment clouds over Rachel's features. "Back to Lima?"

Quinn nods, staring back expectantly. "I was going to head back soon anyway. I drove my mom's car over here, so we're going to have to take it back. Otherwise we'd be on a plane."

For once Rachel is left speechless, deciding not to voice out loud how touched she is by the gesture. Not only did Quinn drive three hours to meet her here, but is willing to aid her in more ways than simply handing Rachel some money and sending her on her way.

"Unless you're so dead set on California," Quinn adds carefully, mistaking her silence as reluctance.

Rachel quickly shakes her head. "No, no. Home is perfect," she assures and smiles for the first time that day. "I'm… I don't think I'll ever be able to thank you enough."

They leave the diner soon after and drive in silence, Rachel still in a perpetual state of shock and Quinn in… well, Rachel can't really tell _what _Quinn is feeling, nonetheless thinking. But if the firm grip she has on the steering wheel and the nonchalant approach to Rachel's attempts at conversation are anything to go by, it can't be anything good.

It's nearing ten by the time Quinn appears to tire out, and they both settle on a modest looking motel firm on the side of the road, just forty minutes from their last stop. Quinn gathers a duffel bag from the backseat, sending Rachel an almost pitying look.

"We'll get you some clothes tomorrow," she says, and heaves the bag over her shoulder. "You can use mine for now."

The motel clerk is a middle aged man, dark skinned, and barely speaks a word of English. Of course Rachel, being Rachel, assures her blonde companion that those last three years of Spanish had not gone to waste, and unsuccessfully tries to communicate in fragments of words she isn't sure even exist. So when they receive a key for a one bedroom suite – with a single bed sitting tauntingly in the center – Rachel is certain that if looks could kill, she would promptly fall over in a lifeless heap upon Quinn's cold glare.

"We don't have to switch out the keys, Quinn. We're both girls here," Rachel argues in vain. "Besides, this is cheaper."

Quinn's scowl is practically irreversible. She doesn't move from her spot by the door. "I'm not about to share a bed with you if that's what you're thinking."

Rachel heaves out an exasperated sigh. "And why ever not?"

"Because I'm _not_, all right?" she bites out, and Rachel is faintly aware of her reverting back to HBIC. "It's bad enough I'm spending the next few days with the likes of _you. _But to have you drool over me all night?"

Rachel scoffs at this. "I most certainly do not drool."

"Whatever."

"You're being ridiculous," Rachel exclaims. "We're driving home together, Quinn. We're spending the next thirty hours in the same car. You're making this far more problematic than it really is."

"Only because you keep messing everything up."

"It's just a bed, Quinn. A _bed_!Why are you being so stubborn?"

"Look, if you're so keen on staying here, then sleep on the floor for all I care. That works just fine with me," Quinn offers bitingly.

Rachel stares at the other girl in disbelief. "You're serious," she says, and almost instantly she can feel the anger coiling in her chest, causing her to sharply declare, "Why don't _you _sleep on the floor then? I would think you'd have a natural feel for it after remaining homeless for so long."

Her nostrils flare up, her face suddenly so cold that Rachel actually fears for her life for a brief moment. She leans forward until her face is just a few inches away from the diva's, and slowly hisses out, "Shut it, _Manhands_." Rachel flinches at the last word. "I dare you to bring that up again. Go ahead. I dare you."

Rachel swallows thickly, all resentment dying as she meets Quinn's hateful gaze and daintily says, "I see we're back to the nicknames."

Quinn doesn't reply, nor does she falter in any way at the flash of hurt spiraling across the brunette's features. Taking a step back, Rachel grabs the keys from the counter and clears her throat. "Very well," she states, face impassive. "Take the bed if that's what makes you happy." She turns towards the door, throwing over her shoulder, "Though sometimes I wonder if you even know what that even means. To be happy," before closing the door behind her.

Thirty minutes later Rachel silently creeps back into the room, a set of sheets and extra pillow in hand. She chances a glance at the dark figure lying on one side of the bed, breathing evenly against the rise and fall of its chest, before noticing the set of clothes seated over the covers on the other side. Rachel perks up at the sight. She hesitates for only a few seconds as she dresses and washes up, making a mental note to buy the supplies needed for her hygienic routines. She finds herself standing over the bed, watching Quinn's unmoving frame and wondering whether the pair of pajamas was actually a silent invitation. Deciding not to take any chances, Rachel huffs softly and lays the blankets down on the floor, followed by the pillow.

Inwardly she cringes. She can only hope she doesn't catch any diseases overnight.

* * *

The morning after is as awkward as Rachel anticipated, if not more so, not to mention painful if the throbbing ache trailing across her shoulders is anything to go by. It had been fairly obvious to the brunette that sleeping on the floor would bring about potential back pains and, if she were extremely unlucky, a mind-blowing headache. And with her long journey the day before, it only makes sense that she would have to endure both.

Quinn ignores her, something that Rachel is used to and expects from the start. It doesn't mean it hurts any less.

With the silence between them cool and rigid, Rachel watches as the former cheerleader packs up what few supplies she owns, and decides to use her time to distract herself and make the bed. Five minutes later they're out the door and back on the road.

It's a silent agreement to forego breakfast for the time being, as it's far too early for either of them to eat. And for Rachel, the thought of food sends wave after wave of nausea over her stomach. It becomes a constant occurrence to grit her teeth every time she has the urge to vomit.

To say she's surprised when they pull to a stop at a Walmart would be an understatement, and she practically jumps out of her seat when Quinn turns to her and actually _speaks. _"Get whatever you need for a week and meet me up at the front." And… that's it. She climbs out of the car without so much as a blink and shuts the door.

Rachel sits there for a minute, staring at the vacant seat beside her before she pulls her head up determinedly and pins her gaze on the fading figure across the parking lot. The nausea is barely noticeable at this point. She steps out of the car and follows inside.

Like with anything else Quinn offers, it's vague and subtle and Rachel clearly has no idea what it means to gather supplies for an entire week. Who would be paying for everything? Quinn? Isn't this overlapping her boundaries? And how much is 'too much'? Thoughts like these cloud her mind as she finds herself in the ladies section of the store and realizes that none of these particular styles of clothing fit her taste. And the material… it's despicable!

Lucky for her she finds a nice plaid skirt somewhere in the clearance rack, and rummages through the rest for a matching shirt until she sighs, holding the article up to her hips.

"You're not seriously going to get that, are you?" A voice says over her shoulder, and Rachel doesn't fail to notice the disgust laced within the tone.

She tosses Quinn a bewildered look, letting it slip into one of offense as she snidely asks, "Why wouldn't I?"

Her expression hardens, if that's even possible. "It's ugly, that's why," Quinn answers sharply, and wretches the article from her hands. "Why can't you just dress normal for once? If you haven't noticed, it's a hundred degrees outside, Berry. It's like you're asking for a heat stroke."

"I fail to see how any of this concerns you," Rachel calmly proclaims.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Seeing as how I'm paying for everything and I don't want to be seen with you wearing _that_," she points to Rachel's outfit before insisting, "I think it does."

Guilt seems to seep through her defenses, and Rachel allows her eyes to droop upon remembering that _yes_, it's Quinn's money going into this whole trip. She shouldn't be arguing.

"I apologize," Rachel says softly. "I…" She pauses. "You don't have to do this."

The tension slowly dissolves between them, and Rachel can faintly distinguish the cool glint in the other girl's eyes softening into something akin to regret. Quinn opens her mouth, letting it snap shut before studying Rachel carefully.

"Here," she says and gestures towards a table piled up in shorts. "A pair or two of these would work for now. Some tank tops, and those dresses over there might look good on you. I'll go get you some pajamas."

The two manage to settle on a truce for the time being. After racing over to the entrance to grab a cart, it takes thirty minutes of shopping to select the right clothing, twenty for drinks and snacks, followed by another thirty for anything else that would lighten the trip back to Lima. Rachel is insistent upon buying several CDs for the car, as the radio has nothing remotely appealing, and it only takes Quinn about seven minutes to finally give in to the brunette's everlasting nagging.

"So that would come down to… a hundred and eighty two," Rachel calculates, writing the number down on the receipt as they load up the car. She looks up at Quinn guiltily. "I'll add that up to the rest of the costs. My daddy can write you a check once we get back."

Quinn gives her a weird look. "Don't worry about it."

"No, I must insist. It's a lot of money –"

"The card goes straight to my mom's account, Rachel. It's not a big deal," Quinn argues nonchalantly. She closes the trunk. "It won't even leave a dent."

When Rachel doesn't respond, she glances over at the brunette, only to see her giving Quinn an almost curious look.

Her forehead crinkles in confusion. "What?"

Rachel shakes her head. "You called me Rachel," she murmurs.

"Oh," Quinn utters, now realizing that she did. She doesn't let the dismissive façade fall from her features however, instead turning her back before repeating Rachel's earlier words, "Simple mistake."

She climbs into the driver's seat, avoiding the diva's inquiring gaze, and effectively missing her knowing smile.

* * *

"Are we still in Arizona?" Rachel asks and lifts her head, blinking tiredly against the sunlight filtering in through the windshield. She had been drifting off for the last few hours, music playing softly from the console, and it's now approaching noon. She's aware of two things: one, the burning ache around her shoulder blades has yet to heal. If anything it's gotten worse. And two, she's _starving._

"I think we're bordering on New Mexico by now," Quinn says, glancing over her GPS as Rachel sits up. "You hungry?"

Rachel nods, not caring how pathetic she looks as she groans, "Famished."

She doesn't see the amused look Quinn throws her way. "We're running low on gas," she admits. "Let's make a quick stop at the nearest station. Then we'll get something to eat."

Rachel nods once more, and she doesn't fail to notice the patient ease surrounding the blonde's voice. It's nothing like her previous attitude, in which Rachel was absolutely certain she was about to embark on a painful road trip with the head cheerleader, and not the Quinn Fabray that, in the last six months, had morphed into someone else; someone calmer and more prone to other people's emotions.

She feels content at this new aspect.

They pull over at a Shell station not too long after, at which point Rachel is profusely aware of her growing hunger, pain, _and _the filthy day's old attire she's currently donning. Her first priority at this point is to change into a new set of clothes.

"First lesson in parking, Berry," Quinn says as they pull up beside a gas pump and she gestures towards the wheel. "Take the keys _out_," she elaborates, following her own advice, "Before you step out of the car."

Rolling her eyes, Rachel fights back the urge to do something as childish as to stick her tongue out and instead flings the door open, more than ready to leap out of the car. She grabs one of the Walmart bags from the back seat and, letting Quinn know she'll be inside, quickly rushes into the station and into the bathroom. If there's one fact that not many people know about Rachel Berry, it's that she's never been particularly fond of public restrooms. In fact she wholeheartedly despises them. Gas station restrooms especially. They're dirty and smelly and just overall unsanitary. It makes Rachel want to –

The door's slammed open before she can even properly put her shirt on, but she doesn't care, because another second and the wave of nausea would have her face first into the toilet. She breathes in the air of… whatever gas stations smell like, before letting it out in a sigh of relief. She realizes with horror that she can't even summon up the willpower to wash her hands.

Deciding she'd find other opportunities to do so, her gaze sweeps across the store before settling on the mop of blonde hair all the way in the back, by the slushy machines, and she wonders why Quinn isn't outside pumping gas into the car.

She has her answer upon seeing the styrofoam cup she's filling to the brim with coffee. Rachel scrunches her face up in disgust.

Quinn simply raises an eyebrow. "I'm going to need it if I'm driving us fifteen hundred miles across the country," she explains, clearly unimpressed with the diva's reaction. "Don't even start."

"Perhaps you should allow me to drive then?" Rachel offers.

Quinn shrugs, not entirely listening as she points to the machines on one side. "There's juice over here if you want any."

Rachel looks, but isn't all that interested, going for the slushy cups instead.

This time it's Quinn with the scrunched up face. "You're not going to dump that in my face when I'm not looking, are you?" she asks, completely serious, albeit slightly wary. "Some kind of revenge for the last three years."

"Of course not," Rachel answers, taken aback. "I'm a bit insulted that you would think so poorly of me. I'm not one for vengeance, Quinn. The past is the past and I like to think that we can move on from it, indefinitely, even if you refuse to accept my friendship. What happened last night may have been a fluke from my understanding and, since neither of us has yet to bring it up, now that I think about it, now might be a good time to –"

Rachel pauses in the midst of her rambling, for once not because she's receiving murderous looks or rude slurs, but rather to prevent her cup from overflowing. She pushes hard on the lever, but it refuses to budge, and suddenly the watery substance is spilling over the edge, coating her hands with grape flavored slushy.

"Uh… Quinn…" she trails off, growing panicked when she jams her palm against the lever and it still doesn't move. She slides the cup out of the way.

"What'd you do?" She hears Quinn say. She sounds annoyed.

"Nothing!" Rachel quickly exclaims. "It just… I didn't do anything. It won't move."

"You broke it!"

"I did not!"

Now Rachel's really beginning to panic. It doesn't look like the machine's about to stop spewing out the purple colored goo any time soon, and at any point it'll spill over the counter. She hurriedly reaches over for another cup to delay it from happening, and tugs, only it clings to the pile beneath it.

"Wait, Berry, don't –"

Too late. Her elbow knocks over the iced beverage she had put to the side, sending it to the ground along with a cup or two. Or six. She can't really tell. She had lost her footing along the way, and now she's on the ground, covered in grape slushy. And more of it is pooling beside her from the counter and everything is just wet and cold and –

Quinn is laughing. Like, all-out tear-inducing _laugher. _It isn't shrill enough to be considered cruel, but it makes Rachel flush, primarily in humiliation. She's sure that, if not already preoccupied with full-blown embarrassment, she'd be more focused on the fact that Quinn is actually letting loose.

"The universe is punishing me. How can you find that amusing?" Rachel groans, jutting her lip out in a pout.

Of course that only makes Quinn laugh harder.

Her brows knitted in frustration, she grabs the hem of Quinn's shirt and pulls the blonde down with her, making sure she lands knee-first into a puddle. Rachel grins at the answering squeak.

"Why you little –"

A cough halts whatever she's about to say, and the two look up in time to see a man standing just four feet away, peering down at them with narrowed eyes and a scowl so fierce it could easily give Quinn a run for her money.

Rachel smiles back weakly. "Our apologies, sir. But I believe your slushy machine is broken."

Needless to say, Rachel can now add a section on how to get kicked out of a gas station for her future memoirs.

* * *

Rachel does find herself behind the wheel eventually, after they were able to eat and she insisted that the blonde get some rest. Now Quinn is starting to regret ever listening, because they're somewhere in Texas and the GPS refuses to function properly. And she _hates_ getting lost.

"Why don't we find somewhere to stay for the night?" Rachel offers, glancing over at her frustrated companion. "The brochure says there's a national monument just a few miles from here. We can rest up and start the day off tomorrow at the _Alibates Flint Quarries_."

"Eyes on the road, Berry," Quinn growls. "And _no_. Don't you think we've had enough 'sight-seeing' for one day? Or any day for that matter? We could've been halfway home by now if you hadn't insisted on stopping a million times."

"We've only stopped twice!"

"And both times I had to drag you out. We're here to get home. That's it. No more tourist attractions," Quinn insists, not taking her eyes off the talking contraption in her hand. She tosses the GPS on the floor with a sigh.

Rachel huffs. It isn't her fault she's enjoying herself. Sure, her relationship with Quinn could still use some work, but bearing in mind yesterday's interactions, she considers it a massive improvement.

"Fine," Rachel reluctantly agrees, wincing slightly at the pressure prodding into her back. "I stand by my notion that we find a motel as soon as possible, however. My condition could be dire."

She's given a sharp look before it noticeably softens, and Quinn's voice drops to a murmur as she asks, "Are you okay?"

Rachel is struck silent for just a moment, unsure whether it's concern laced within her words, and if she should be as touched as she is _by _it. She manages a small nod. "Yes. I…" It's difficult to admit to anything at this point; somehow she's still touched by Quinn's sentiment. "I didn't get very much sleep last night. Lying on the floor can sometimes do wonders for my back."

She doesn't mean for it come out so… well, accusing, but she doesn't miss the unmistakable flinch from the side, and she can't help but feel guilty and good at the same time. Because admittedly she's still angry about the previous night, no matter how many times she tells herself that there's no need for anyone to apologize, that in the end it would fix itself. It isn't true. While she's willing to 'brush it under the carpet' so to speak, her subconscious is still searching for that apology that she's sure is never going to come.

"Turn into this exit," Quinn motions gently, and it's enough for Rachel to let the disappointment go for now.

They find a motel just as last rays of pink fade from the sky, and this time they make sure the room is a double-bedded suite before finding out for themselves. Rachel, grateful for the remarkable perks of lying on a bed again, sprawls herself face first into the sheets.

"Do you want to shower first?" asks Quinn, and her voice may be muffled from the pillow Rachel has over head, but she certainly doesn't miss the word 'shower.'

She had showered last night to wipe the day's grime from her body, but she hadn't had the benefits of obtaining a razor beforehand. And… dear _God_. Has she really been walking around with hairy armpits all day?

"Yes please," is Rachel's immediate response as she sprints into the bathroom.

The towels are thin, and harsh to her sensitive skin, as opposed to the big fluffy ones she has at home. She can't bring herself to complain though. She had shaved and cleansed and rubbed her skin raw. She's never felt better.

When she emerges from the bathroom wrapped in a fresh towel, because the other one was far too thin for her liking, she reaches for a set of pajamas and turns to Quinn with a beaming smile.

"All done," Rachel chirps, only to see Quinn paying her no mind. Her gaze is leveled firmly on her hands, which fumble anxiously over a bottle of shampoo, and Rachel notices the heavy flush surrounding the blonde's face and swallowing her neck. Is it too warm in here? Maybe the air conditioner's broken.

Rachel peers at the blonde curiously. "Quinn?"

That seems to catch her attention. Her head springs up and suddenly hazel eyes dart to the bathroom door, avoiding Rachel entirely. She gets up as she says, "It's about time," and stalks inside, locking the door behind her.

Rachel stares after her.

Huh. Weird.

Shrugging it off as a response to the blazing hot weather, Rachel swiftly dresses and sprawls herself over the bed again, making sure to keep her eyes wide open. She'll be damned if she falls asleep before having a nice, civil conversation with Quinn. They might make it back home tomorrow, and this could be the perfect (and only) opportunity to have something remotely similar to a sleepover. She isn't about to screw it up.

Surprisingly Quinn takes longer in the shower than Rachel had. She's drifting off into a light slumber when she hears the lock unclick, and it's like clockwork that she sits up and smiles expectantly at the blonde.

Quinn cocks her head, fully dressed, but smiles back softly. "You don't have to stay up for me. Go to sleep if you're tired."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Quinn," Rachel resolutely declares. "Not until we have our much needed girl chat."

Quinn quirks an eyebrow at this. "Girl chat?" she repeats.

Rachel nods. Her determination doesn't waver. "Yes, girl chat."

"Ok…" she trails off slowly, taking a seat on one end of the bed. She doesn't bother to hide her amusement. "What would you like to 'girl chat' about?"

Rachel ponders this for a moment, her immediate thought being boys, because what else do other girls talk about? She immediately shoots down that idea upon realizing that bringing up past relationships is quite possibly the worst approach.

While Rachel continues to think, Quinn reaches over for her bag and pulls out her phone, tinkering with it for a few seconds before she holds it out to the brunette. Rachel simply eyes it in confusion.

"You got a message from Kurt," is Quinn's response. "And some of the other glee clubbers. Just go down the list."

Rachel does, her first reaction being a lighthearted chuckle as she reads through the first text.

_Quinn, as difficult as it may be to deal with Rachel's high doses of crazy, please refrain from killing her. And do let her know that our plans for New York are still in the works. _– Kurt

Of course that would be his first reaction. It would be anyone's first reaction, knowing her and Quinn's past. She's a bit surprised herself that she isn't lying in a ditch somewhere in the outskirts of New Mexico.

_wut the hell q? why didnt u tell me u were cruising around with rupaul? this shit's hilarious _– Santana. Her grammar's simply atrocious.

_Oh. and tell the hobbit I say hi I guess. Brit says hi 2 _– Santana again. Rachel feels somewhat warmed by this one.

_Gurl ur killing me here, answer ur phone already. Whats up with this gossip about u and Rachel?_ – Mercedes

_Yoo baby mama, I hear you're sexing it up on a road trip there with my jewish babe. That's hot. _– Oh, Noah.

_hey quin i no u hat me rite now but can u tell rach i hope shes ok i miss her _- … Finn. Dear lord she needs to give that boy a thorough spelling lesson, and perhaps several dictionaries to read. It's no wonder she had always refused to exchange text messages when the act of calling him is… far less painful.

Rachel doesn't realize she's smiling though. The giant grin adoring her face threatens to split her face in half and it's only when Quinn lets out a rather unflattering snort that she laughs as well.

"There were about a dozen more of these," Quinn admits, and Rachel can't help but notice that she looks ten times more attractive when she isn't glaring daggers into Rachel's head. Or more specifically, smiling. The visual is beyond stunning. "I had to delete them though. They were getting annoying."

Rachel nods in understanding. Personally if she was on the receiving end of those endless texts, well… she'd be very happy about it.

"Do you need to call your dads?" Quinn proceeds to ask.

Rachel shakes her head. "I called them this afternoon," she answers, remembering the few minutes she had disappeared when she and Quinn had stopped for a bite to eat. "I…" She hesitates. "I may or may not have implied that this trip could potentially take a few weeks."

Quinn just stares at her. "And why would you say that?"

Rachel shifts under the weight of her gaze. "Extra precaution," she says softly. "In case… well, in case you happen to change your mind. We wouldn't have to head home just yet."

"Oh?" Quinn says. Her face remains impassive. "So… what? You just want to drive aimlessly around?"

"I'm saying that this could be the perfect occasion to travel the country. To stop and enjoy the view rather than continue making home our destination. It could easily be a bonding experience," Rachel explains enthusiastically. "My fathers have already agreed to pay for half of the expenses."

"Except I never agreed to anything."

Rachel pouts. "And for that reason I ask that you please think about it."

"It's a stupid idea," Quinn proclaims, rolling her eyes.

"I find it wonderful."

Her response is wry. "I never would've guessed."

Rachel sighs, and puts in the effort to keep her gaze serious. "Just… give it some thought," she pleads, and when there's no retort, urges, "Please."

Rolling her lip back between her teeth, Quinn bites on it as she studies Rachel's face for several seconds before giving a curt nod. The sight of it leaves Rachel beaming her face off once more, and she fights off the incredibly tempting urge to pull the blonde into a hug.

"I still didn't agree to anything, Berry," Quinn adds, as though reading her thoughts.

Rachel just smiles. "I know," she states, before casually asking, "If you did, though, where would you go?"

At her puzzled frown, Rachel elaborates, "Anywhere in the country. If you could choose one place, where would you want to go?"

"You…" Her scoff is both amused and skeptical, but she drops her head down, mulling it over as she gives off a half-hearted shrug. "I never really thought about it," Quinn confesses. "I mean, I've been pretty much everywhere. I guess when I was younger it would've been Paris, but that doesn't count in this case…"

She looks up at Rachel perceptively, tilting her head. "Let me guess," she says with a knowing smirk. "New York?"

Rachel pulls a hand over her mouth, eyes wide as she lets out a dramatic gasp. "Why of course!" she exclaims, causing the light in Quinn's eyes to brighten just a little. "But not especially," she admits with a hesitant, "New York will always be there, however…" She shakes her head. "Never mind."

Quinn perks up. "What? No. Tell me."

"It's cliché."

"Probably." Quinn nods. "Though most things we do are."

"You'll laugh."

"Berry…"

"I'm serious!"

Scowling, Quinn leans forward and pins the brunette down with a resolute glare. "Try me."

Rachel promptly hesitates once more before mumbling almost incoherently, "I've always wanted to see the Grand Canyon."

It takes a second for Quinn to strain her ears and make out the words, but all she hears is 'Grand Canyon' and she swiftly wrinkles her nose in distaste. "Seriously?"

"I told you!" she says. Quinn knows that she's right.

"Yes, but… it's really nothing special," Quinn acknowledges. "And we _just _left Arizona yesterday, Berry. Why didn't you say something then?"

"For multiple reasons," Rachel claims, somewhat shyly. "What I've truly wanted was this romantic tale of being kissed high up in a valley, with the sun setting in the background. Finn wasn't too enthusiastic about it when I suggested that we make the trip at some point, though I suppose that could easily change with thorough convincing."

When Quinn doesn't say anything, Rachel tears away from the stream of thoughts clouding her mind and looks up at the blonde who had gone strangely quiet sometime during her ramble. Her forehead scrunches up in concern as she observes the stone-like expression enveloping over the other girl's face.

"Quinn?" she urges gently, awaiting some form of reaction. It finally comes when Quinn appears to relax slightly and morphs her features to impassive.

"We should get some sleep," is all she says. Without another word she crawls up beneath the covers.

"But –" Rachel doesn't finish, but feels the taunting sting in her chest as she observes the former cheerleader turn her back to her, a heavy silence settled between them.

* * *

The next morning is a far cry from uncomfortable, if only because Quinn pretends the final minutes of their conversation last night never happened. And thus the two leave the motel on a semi-enthusiastic note; enthusiastic on Rachel's terms. Quinn doesn't seem to agree.

"Berry, if you don't turn that thing down in the next five seconds, I'm pulling over." Quinn's growl is unmistakably angry and, if Rachel isn't so deeply involved in her classics, she would admit she'd be rather frightened as well.

The diva tilts her head in response and has to raise her voice over the shrill music blaring from the console. "What?" she shouts and gives the blonde a puzzled look. "I can't hear you, Quinn! You should speak a little louder!"

Quinn grinds her teeth together as she repeats, a little louder, "Turn. The. Damn. Music. Off."

Her demand goes unheard over Rachel's bellowing the lyrics to _Highway to Hell. _The extra vocals only echo inside the car and, if possible, add to Quinn's increasingly growing headache.

"I'm on the _highway to hell_! On the _highway to hell! HIGHWAY TO HELL!"_

Hell, indeed.

Fuming, Quinn chances a dark glance over at the singing diva, whose voice has reached an unbearable high. "BERRY!"

Her face twists into confusion. "What?" she calls out.

Jesus Christ.

Quinn could swear she sees red as she barks out, "You're driving me insane. Shut _up _before I have to strangle you to _pieces _and –"

The song is turned down, leaving a barely audible buzz that has Quinn sighing in relief. Rachel stares at her with slightly widened eyes.

"There's no need to raise your voice, Quinn," Rachel points out. "If you wanted me to turn the music down, all you had to do was simply ask."

Quinn resists the urge to slam her face into the steering wheel.

"Might I ask where you're taking us?" Rachel proceeds to say, staring out her window in contemplation. She can tell they're still in Texas, which makes no sense because they should be in Oklahoma by now.

"You said you wanted to go to that Alibates monument, right?" Quinn offers. "It's just a few miles down this road."

Rachel's answering smile is almost blinding, and she really has no choice but to gaze at the other girl with a sense of awe. Quinn would find it sickening if she isn't actually secretly flattered by it, and potentially giddy, not that she would ever use such a word. The faint blush arising in her cheeks is proof enough.

For the next two hours – half of which is spent with Rachel literally dropping to her knees and begging for Quinn to purchase a disposable camera (or three) – they find themselves on some historical landmark that has Rachel bubbling with excitement, and Quinn studying her nails in boredom. It's only when Rachel flips out one of the cameras and begins to take shot after shot of endless rock that Quinn remembers why she had even agreed to this in the first place.

"Excuse me, miss," Rachel gestures to a woman standing nearby them, and holds up the camera in silent plea. "Could you by chance take a photo of my friend and me? It's for my future scrapbook. We're traveling the country together."

Quinn inwardly face palms.

Several more shots later and Rachel effectively uses up the entire roll of film.

"Maybe…" Quinn trails off, prying the camera out of her hand. "I should be in charge of the photos from now on."

Rachel pouts in return.

The two set out for an early brunch at some vegan friendly café, to which Rachel takes full advantage of and orders a large stack of pancakes. She regretfully admits to Quinn that the last two or three salads she's had wasn't nearly enough to satisfy her appetite, and has been especially ravenous for quite a while. Quinn orders her another stack of pancakes as a result.

"I was thinking of heading up to Colorado, instead," Quinn says with a mouthful of bacon. Rachel shoots her a disapproving look. "Maybe stay close to the south for a while before moving up north."

Rachel nibbles on her fork in thought. "Does this mean you're considering my idea?"

Quinn never gives her an answer.

Later on Rachel calls her dads, gleefully letting them in on her whereabouts and what she likely has planned with her blonde companion. Her fathers, Hiram especially (as Leroy is busy in the kitchen at the moment), are surprisingly supportive – overly so, Rachel notices. She thinks it's because she's finally found a friend to do things with that normal teenagers do. And Rachel is firmly set on this notion… calling Quinn her friend. Because frenemies do not take spontaneous road trips together.

And so it's settled. Quinn is officially her friend.

She doesn't tell Quinn this, of course, nor does she mention the money her fathers plan to send her under Quinn's name. They only have to arrive safely to Colorado before Rachel obtains a copy of her identification, and can partake in the overwhelming expenses she calculates in her head.

Yes, it's only fair that she pays at least half of what they're bound to spend.

At some point after her conversation with her dad, she calls Finn who, after a long account of something dealing with sports, eventually admits that he wishes she were back home. Rachel can't bring herself to say the same. For some reason she can't even present him with an account of her last few days. It feels like something that should just be between her and Quinn.

"Colorado Springs," Rachel reads, gazing up at the giant sign hanging just over the interstate. She looks over at Quinn curiously, itching to just take the wheel to save the girl from any more driving. "What are we doing here?"

Quinn shrugs her shoulders apathetically, though to Rachel it looks more suspicious than anything else. "My dad took me here when I was seven," she responds, and her expression suddenly becomes somber. "I was too young to try out some of the things they had back when I was a kid."

Rachel realizes she doesn't like the somber expression, but fights off the impulse to pull her into a hug. "Such as?"

Quinn bites her lip softly, molding it into a smirk as she suggests with a straight face, "Bungee jumping?"

The look of sheer terror on Rachel's face is enough to make Quinn laugh.

* * *

"No."

"Rachel…"

"I said no, Quinn!" Rachel exclaims, planting a foot down in an air of resistance.

She doesn't even notice that Quinn had just called her by her first name again. She's far too concerned with other matters at the moment – such as her heart beating out of her ribcage, the distance she is from the ground, and that, just a few moments ago, she had watched Quinn fling herself hundreds of feet into the air without a care in the world. Only Rachel's suffering from the effects of her near heart attack.

She quickly wipes away a few lingering tears.

"You were being serious," Rachel says, shaking her head in disbelief. "I can't believe you were being serious."

"It's not as bad as you think," Quinn offers gently.

"Not as bad –" Rachel sputters. "Quinn, you just _jumped_, with nothing but a thin piece of rope to hold you up. What if that rope had snapped? Or – or something equally as terrible?"

"Nothing bad is going to happen, if that's what you're concerned about."

"I was concerned about _you_."

"And I'm fine. I'm still here, aren't I?" Quinn says and, to Rachel's surprise, pulls her hands into her own. "It'll be fun. Trust me, Rach."

Rachel's taken aback for a moment, not sure if she heard right, though is certain right away that she could get used to the nickname. She's already quite fond of it.

And her hands are sort of tingling.

Rachel stares hard at the floor, feeling her heart rate pick up once more, and she honestly can't tell whether it's because she's hesitating _again_, or that Quinn is watching her so intensely that it's making her palms sweat. Or perhaps that's from the hand holding. Either way it's a distraction.

"I…" Rachel pauses, lifting her eyes up to meet Quinn's as she gives her a barely perceptible nod. "V-very well."

Quinn's smile must be contagious, Rachel decides. She immediately feels the loss of the contact as she pulls away, having been strapped to the rest of the equipment and she's suddenly on the verge of changing her mind again. But one glance at Quinn takes a reverse trip back to her final decision, and she steps onto the edge of the platform, feeling the wind whip around her hair.

Her last thought before she jumps is that she's going to die a virgin.

She's never screamed so hard in her life.

* * *

They stay in Colorado for the night, something in which Rachel is so incredibly grateful for that she could cry tears of joy. She's worn out, her legs won't stop trembling beneath her weight, and her throat, burned raw due to her screams, has placed a husky, hoarse-like edge to her voice.

It scares her senseless.

They spend another day in Colorado for less… life threatening activities, those that are situated in Canon City. It's proposed as a peace offering once Rachel is given a second camera for the beautiful parks that lie within the city, under the condition that she uses a limited amount of film.

By the end of the day they're forced to buy another camera.

They drive through Kansas and Missouri in one day, stopping occasionally for rest stops and any attractions they come across. After a particular incident with a homeless man and a dead fish, Rachel vows to never visit Kansas City again. She would really rather proceed to Illinois, of course with the full intention of going straight to Chicago.

Quinn thinks otherwise.

"We agreed to stay in the south for now," she explains as calmly as she can, though it grows increasingly difficult with Rachel's overbearing need to _win._

Rachel breathes out an annoyed huff. "There's nothing remotely fascinating about Arkansas."

"Then we won't stay there for long," Quinn says and rolls her eyes. "We'd be heading close to home that way. Back to Lima. Is that what you want?"

Rachel's impending argument is lulled by that simple statement, never reaching her lips. She immediately sobers up as the rush of anger and what she assumes was exuberance fades into… well, emptiness. A hallow feeling in the pit of her stomach. Something that normally occurs when she thinks about the past, or the future and not the present. Or the fact that any day now, they'd be returning to Lima and everything, all of _this, _won't mean anything.

Quinn will be Quinn and Rachel will be Rachel. No care-free drives through endless strips of desert, or spontaneous trips from one city to another, or senseless chitchat and peals of laughter in the wake of the night. It would all be gone the moment they return home, and Rachel can't, for the life of her, imagine letting all of that go when she's _seeing _Quinn for the first time.

So in quiet contemplation, she lets out a breathy, "No," and fastens her gaze to the window. "Anywhere but there."

* * *

They share a bed one night, mostly because the hotel they had chosen is completely booked, and it's out of luck that one person had called to cancel a reservation. That leaves a one bedroom suite available, which Rachel is adamant against.

"Rachel," Quinn interrupts, placing a reassuring hand on the girl's shoulder. "It's okay. Let's take it. It's too late to find another one."

Rachel recoils for a second and studies her with guarded scrutiny. "I refuse to sleep on the floor again."

Something flashes in Quinn's eyes. Guilt.

"You won't," she firmly assures. She sounds tired. "We'll share."

So when Rachel finds herself on one end of the bed, she can't sleep. She can only stare up at the ceiling in wonder while her hands continue to latch onto her pillow, kneading it and positioning it a different way, while her gaze constantly flickers over to the shadowy figure lying next to her. And it's with relentless uncertainty that she decides to shake Quinn awake, because the blonde has been writhing in her sleep for the last twenty minutes and Rachel's beginning to think it's a nightmare. A small one from the looks of it, but a nightmare nonetheless.

"Quinn," Rachel whispers, and lays a hand over her arm to stop the girl from toppling out of the bed. "Quinn," she repeats, a little louder.

Quinn sits up, eyes wide and glazed from the sudden intrusion. Rachel's sleep-deprived mind can think of nothing but how… _pretty _Quinn looks, even in a lost state with messy, tangled up hair. In her conscious mind, she looks beautiful.

"Hey," Rachel says quietly, letting a few seconds pass for Quinn to compose herself.

Quinn sighs. "Hey."

Neither knows what to say after that, so she watches as Quinn settles back into bed, staring blindly at nothing in particular.

"Was that a nightmare?" Rachel finally asks, fearful of a negative reaction.

But Quinn just nods. "Sort of."

Rachel knows better than to ask what it was about, and instead goes for a more suitable approach. She looks down thoughtfully as she offers, "Sometimes it helps when you hold something."

There's a curious reflection in Quinn's eyes when she turns her head over, a light frown plastered over her lips. "What?"

"To help you sleep," Rachel clarifies shyly, now realizing that maybe she shouldn't have said anything at all. Yet she clears her throat and explains, "When I was younger, I had this little stuffed lion that I would hold onto at night to prevent myself from having nightmares. Being a growing girl, I obviously could no longer depend on my fathers for every bad dream I would have, and I discovered that I wouldn't have to. It's the act of clinging to something that would help prevent them."

Rachel could practically hear Quinn rolling her eyes. "I highly doubt carrying around a toy lion is going to help me sleep, Rach."

"You never know unless you try."

There's a pause. "What'd you name it?"

"…Simba." Rachel bites her lip in embarrassment.

Quinn laughs. "So original."

"Oh, hush," Rachel scolds, with no real bite. She playfully nudges the blonde with her elbow. "Do reconsider. Might I point out that there is nothing to lose."

"Except my dignity," Quinn mumbles.

"As I said. Nothing to lose."

Quinn ignores the subtle jab and mulls it over for both their sakes, as she's willing to bet Rachel isn't about to drop this any time soon. "And what would you suggest I use?" she says teasingly. "You?"

"If you'd like to."

Quinn's thoughts grind to a halt. "I was kidding, Rachel."

Rachel doesn't even bat an eyelid. "No… this is perfect," Rachel says, her mouth pulling into a wide grin. "Human contact is perhaps an even better alternative."

Quinn stares evenly at the brunette before releasing a shuddering breath, wide awake now more than ever. She can feel the beginning of a migraine hastily approaching. "I don't think that's a good idea," she whispers meekly.

"And why not?" Rachel asks, oblivious to Quinn's discomfort. "All you need to do is hold onto me. I promise you I don't bite."

"Rachel…"

But before Quinn can concoct another excuse – not that the diva would ever acknowledge any reasoning contrary to her own – Rachel is already under the covers, and suddenly Quinn is very aware of the warmth consuming her senses.

Rachel turns her back to the other girl, placing her weight on her right arm, and blindly reaches behind her until she feels Quinn's hand engulfed in her own. She tugs on it gently until Quinn's arm is securely wrapped around her waist, vaguely aware that the blonde has stiffened.

She squeezes the hand reassuringly. "Is this okay?"

She feels Quinn relax slightly, gradually, as she nods into Rachel's hair. Hesitantly Rachel is pulled into a soft – and very non-manly – chest. Primarily Quinn's chest, and the notion finally hits her with the weight of a thousand bricks that she can't help but blush.

"Are you sure?" Rachel asks softly. Her stomach feels like it might roll over in itself.

Quinn nods again, this time burying her nose into the back of Rachel's shoulder. The brunette inhales sharply in surprise.

"Good…" Rachel murmurs, allowing herself to relax into the embrace. The constriction in her chest fades to a light fluttering.

She sighs gently and scoots a little closer until she's pressed firmly against the slightly larger frame, Quinn's grip tightening in response. Rachel smiles.

Minutes pass in blissful silence as Rachel unconsciously brushes the arm circled around her waist, listening to the soft wisps of air even against her neck. She's almost positive that Quinn is asleep; that is, until she speaks.

"I didn't go to Utah to visit my relatives," she hears Quinn whisper. She pauses mid-stroke. "I don't even have relatives there. At least none that I know of."

Rachel desperately wants to turn around and face the girl, to see her, but she's afraid that any type of movement would break the connection.

"The people who…" Quinn swallows thickly. "The people who adopted Beth… they live there," she admits, breathing harshly beside Rachel's ear. "I had signed for a closed adoption. I was… I didn't think… I regret it. I miss her so much that it physically _hurts_, and I thought that maybe if I saw her one more time, I could just forget again. I could finally end that chapter of my life."

Rachel listens closely, her grasp on Quinn's hand never relenting.

"I found their address from the adoption papers," Quinn continues. Her voice grows weaker at this point. "I told my mom I was visiting my sister in Seattle, and I just… I took off. Only when I got there… it was empty. The house was put on sale and none of the neighbors knew where they had moved and… they were gone. All of them – and… and Beth –"

Quinn's last words merge into a choked gasp, the vibrations of her despairing sobs cleaving to Rachel's body and she immediately spurs into action. Her arms are promptly wrapped around the blonde's quivering frame, and Rachel hushes her gently, rocking her back and forth until the sobs fade into quiet hiccups.

"Shh…" Rachel lulls. She's faintly aware of a wet patch on her shirt where Quinn's face is nuzzled into. She tucks her hand underneath Quinn's chin, bringing her face up to meet hers, locking her gaze to tear-stained eyes.

"It's okay," Rachel reassures her, and wipes away a trail of lingering tears. "It's okay," she says again. Her face is inches away from Quinn's, and even with puffy eyes and red, swollen cheeks, Rachel still thinks she's the prettiest girl she's ever met. And now there's this urge inside Rachel, crawling over primal instincts, and willing her to feel Quinn's breath brush over her face and… something. She's not really sure what.

So she tucks a strand of hair over Quinn's ear and smiles.

"Thank you for trusting me."

* * *

Quinn is somewhat withdrawn the next few days, not so much as to cause Rachel to worry, but enough to question the status of the blonde's mood every once and a while… which essentially means Rachel is worrying. It feels as though they had a taken a step forward in their friendship, only to take two steps back the instant Quinn recoils from her moment of vulnerability. It saddens Rachel more than she ever thought it could. She thrives on the fact that she had managed to get Quinn to open up, and while the relationship they've harnessed during the trip is still intact, more than anything she just wants to see the real Quinn again. The Quinn who had held Rachel in her arms, and let herself _be _held as she sobbed through the brutally honest truth.

Sometimes Rachel thinks it had all been a figment of her imagination.

She casts a fleeting look over to the driver's seat before sighing. They're in Alabama now, having driven through Louisiana, Mississippi, and Tennessee all in the span of four days. A very thought-provoking four days in Rachel's opinion. She's beginning to think all this Quinn pondering will drive her insane at some point. Like she isn't already.

"What?" Quinn says, glancing over at Rachel, who snaps out of her trance with a sheepish grin. She hadn't realized she was staring.

"Nothing," Rachel denies. She feels her face grow warm. Was she so scatterbrained that she was unknowingly staring at the object of her thoughts in deep contemplation? Or was it the sunlight reflecting across Quinn's hair that served as a distraction? It makes sense if it had been both.

"Liar," she accuses and sends Rachel a mocking glare. She returns the grin with a light one of her own as she says, "Seriously, what is it?"

Rachel fumbles with the hem of her shirt nervously. "It doesn't matter."

"Of course it does," Quinn says, this time sending her a real glare. "If it's from you, it always matters."

Rachel's heart swells at this statement, and for a brief moment, she believes she had caught a glimpse of Real Quinn again. She opens her mouth to respond her as gaze swivels to the windshield, and her eyes widen.

"Squirrel," Rachel gasps, raising an urgent hand towards the road. "SQUIRREL!"

Quinn violently jerks at the outburst. Her hands spin over the steering wheel to narrowly avoid the squirrel sprinting across the lane. The car then screeches as it sends them off the road, rotating a perfect one eighty before it lurches over a pothole, a tire bursting on contact.

Rachel's head slams against the window, and she's tossed over to one side, for a second seeing her life flash before her eyes, until the car rocks once more and then halts. With her heart threatening to burst out of her chest, Rachel snaps her gaze towards Quinn, who looks just as alarmed as Rachel feels. She breathes in deep gulps of air over the rush of adrenaline still coursing through her body.

Quinn is the first to speak. "Are you okay?" she asks. Her voice is weak and panicked, with a twinge of concern as her eyes flicker over to Rachel's forehead. The motion causes Rachel to raise a palm over the throbbing area. It's bleeding.

She doesn't answer, mostly due to shock, but partly because her throat itches and she doesn't think she can form any words. Quinn doesn't appear to mind, however. She had reached over the backseat and is now tenderly wiping the cut with a piece of cloth. Rachel winces.

"Stay here," Quinn demands after finishing, her voice gaining a rough edge as she steps out of the car. Rachel watches her leave and, feeling uneasy about being left alone, follows after the blonde.

What she sees sort of blows her mind.

One of the front tires had been blown to shreds, the remaining piece settled within a giant pothole that has the car dangling at an upward angle. She jumps back when Quinn throws a livid kick at the burning shred of rubber.

"Fuck!" she shouts, throwing Rachel completely off guard. She's never heard Quinn curse before, and she listens as the blonde lists out a stream of profanity. She can only shrink back in fear.

"What the hell are we going to do now?" Quinn barks out to no one in particular, whereas Rachel takes this as the opportunity to speak.

"We should call my dads," she suggests meekly. She wishes she hadn't though. Quinn's glare is suddenly turned on her and she wishes she could just sink into the ground and hide there forever.

Quinn huffs. "And do what, Rachel? Fly all the way over here? It could take days before they show up, and what will we do then, huh? Feed on that damn _squirrel_?"

Rachel flinches, but otherwise holds her composure enough to keep a straight face. Placing her hands firmly over her hips, she pushes aside her hurt pride and says, "Let me see your phone."

"Did you not listen to a word I said?"

"I'm calling Finn," she declares resolutely. Aside from her fathers, Finn is the only other person she thinks that might just be able to help. The possibility is a stretch, but Rachel's far too preoccupied with the frosty scowl being pointed directly at her to dwell on the inadequacy of her comment.

Rachel's can't pinpoint exactly what changes after that; perhaps it's the sudden drop in temperature that causes her skin to crawl, which makes no sense because it's still ninety seven degrees outside and counting. So she reluctantly admits that it is, indeed, Quinn's spiteful, faraway look that provokes the current sensation of having your heart squeezed right out of your chest.

Quinn's laughter is unmistakably harsh. "Finn?" she forces out. Her voice is contorted between amusement and disbelief. "You honestly think bringing _Hudson _is going to change anything? He's about as useless as those ogre feet of his."

Rachel bristles. "It was merely a suggestion," she points out hotly. "And I would appreciate it if you didn't speak of him in that manner."

"Because he 'tries', right?" Quinn deadpans. "How can I possibly forget how your _boyfriend_," she sneers the word in disgust, "drove halfway across the country to save you."

The frown grows deeper over Rachel's face as she curiously inquires, "What is it you're implying?"

Quinn blows out a huff, slamming the car door as she stalks over to the edge of the road. "Nothing."

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Quinn says. She watches a car approach from the distance as she raises her arm, thumb poised up.

"Are you insane?" Rachel cries upon realization. She stalks over to the detached-looking blonde. "Two females, seeking refuge on a semi-abandoned highway in the middle of Alabama is the very depiction of a terribly done horror film."

Quinn doesn't budge.

"Chainsaws, Quinn. I refuse to die a gruesome death in the hands of a psychopath."

"You're overreacting," is all Quinn says, raising her hand a little higher as the car nears.

"I'm being realistic."

Quinn scoffs. "Chainsaws?"

The car passes them, causing Quinn to sigh and pin Rachel with a hard look. "We don't have any other option," she admits blankly, before stating, "If you had just shut up about that squirrel…"

Rachel stares, mouth agape, as the words sink in and she feels her stomach sink to her feet. Quinn blames her, she realizes. Simply saying that to herself elicits a thin coat of tears, though she doesn't let them fall, and instead bows her head, crossing her arms protectively around her chest. She knows Quinn is right, but to actually hear her say it? Well… it hurts. It hurts _a lot._

For the next twenty minutes she tries to keep her tears at bay.

* * *

Rachel admits that the man looks nothing like she would imagine in a serial killer. His eyes are soft, his smile genuine, and he has a picture of his four year old daughter hanging just by the windshield. He looks at it in adoration. That doesn't, however, strike through the possibilities of a danger zone, and so Rachel remains stiffly aware of her surroundings for anything out of the ordinary.

They reach the nearest Autozone with brief conversation – brief as in Quinn adding a few sentences here and there for the man who had pulled over for them, while Rachel is stonily quiet. She doesn't notice the glances Quinn shoots her from the side view mirror.

"Well, here it is," the man – Frank, Rachel thinks is his name – points out and pulls to a stop in front of the store. "Why don't y'all come inside and see what they have?"

Quinn nods and smiles gratefully, unlatching her seatbelt to follow Frank out of the truck. She pauses just outside the door to spare a look at Rachel, who had not said a word the entire drive, or had any intention of moving apparently.

"We should head back home after this is done," Quinn suggests, her expression devoid of any particular emotion. She hesitates for just a moment before adding, "I'll see you inside."

The door closes, leaving behind a silence that has Rachel breathing heavily into the stifling air. She opens the door just a crack and inhales deeply. Her throat burns from her struggle to not breaking into pitiful sobs, and so she swallows thickly, Quinn's words echoing in her head over and over again until it becomes clear to her that this is it. This is the end of their journey.

And by _God_, why can't she stop shaking?

Her knees buckle against the door handle as she brings them up beneath her chin, an involuntary sob tearing through her throat. She sniffles.

Well, at least her efforts weren't entirely futile.

Minutes pass with silent tears gushing down her cheeks, and she brings up an arm to wipe them off in annoyance. Snapping her head up, she listens closely to the light vibrations thrumming from the passenger side, right where Quinn's bag lies. She regards it thoughtfully for several seconds before relenting to her curiosity, and she tugs out Quinn's phone, its screen flashing in familiarity.

_Finn._

Rachel clenches her eyes tight as she releases a hopeless sigh. She slides the answer key, numbly pressing the phone to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Rachel!" comes Finn's enthusiastic tone, followed by a puzzled, "You answered."

"Of course I did," Rachel says, brow furrowing. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Well I've called, like, a bajillion times. But Quinn's always ignoring my calls."

Rachel blinks in surprise. "She does?"

"Yeah," Finn affirms, and Rachel could imagine him nodding. "I mean, I guess I don't blame her. She's still kinda pissed at me and all," he explains before brightly inquiring, "How are you?"

"I'm fine," she immediately answers. She feels awkward.

"Are you sure?" he asks worriedly. Rachel begins to tear up again. "You sound like you're crying, Rach. Did Quinn say something to you?"

"No, no," she quickly denies, even though it's somewhat of a lie. She shakes her head furiously. "I'm perfectly fine. Really." Now _that _is definitely a lie.

"If you say so."

Rachel sniffles again. She can't do this.

"Finn?"

"Yeah?"

Rachel's eyes dart to the glass window outside, where she can vaguely make out Quinn speaking to one of the associates. Her form disappears through the reflection.

Rachel sighs. "We need to talk."

* * *

The ride back home is as silent and uncomfortable as ever, more so now that Rachel was unable to conceal her puffy, red eyes through a pair of sunglasses. Quinn had noticed immediately.

"You're crying," she states bluntly. At this point they had managed to get their tire fixed, and Quinn, oddly enough, chooses now to say something.

Rachel doesn't know how to respond to that. Her lip quivers between her teeth as she tries to speak, but she knows, deep down, that saying anything would only rekindle a fresh wave of grief. She'd be defenseless against another breakdown.

She nods curtly instead.

Feeling the burning gaze drilling into her face, she perks up at what Quinn says next. "Don't."

Rachel's forehead crinkles in confusion. "Pardon?"

"Stop crying," Quinn clarifies. If anything it confuses Rachel even further. "I hate it when you do."

Rachel parts her lips in astonishment, once again rendered speechless, because really, she never expected _that_.

"I'm sorry," Quinn continues softly. "For the way I acted earlier, and for… everything. I never should've treated you the way I have – you of all people don't deserve that and… What happened – with the squirrel – that wasn't your fault. I didn't mean what I said."

Once Rachel is able to get past the fact that Quinn had just apologized – her chest feels as though it's about to implode – she clears her throat. "Of course it's my fault," she admits quietly, wincing at the raw effort it takes to speak. "I shouldn't have panicked as much as I had, even if you were about to run over such a small, innocent creature with absolutely no –"

"Rachel," Quinn interjects softly. "I get it. It's no one's fault, how about that? The squirrel was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. At least we made it out safe."

Rachel doesn't quite agree, but decides not to voice her opinion out loud in fear that it would merely start another argument. She nods in response and stares out the window.

"I broke up with Finn," she murmurs after several minutes.

Quinn nearly has a whiplash from twisting her head around too quickly. "What?" she says, eyes wide. "When?"

Rachel smiles sadly. "Today," she answers. "While you were getting the tire. He called your phone."

Quinn doesn't say anything.

"I've thought about what you said, and it's made me differentiate between certain expectations I have for a relationship," she explains, nervously running her fingers over her skirt. "What I have – _had _– with Finn was nothing short of a schoolgirl crush long destroyed by the reality of it all. He's what I thought I wanted, not what I truly desired, and I believe he feels the same. He wasn't too distraught when I told him."

Her eyes flicker up in surprise when Quinn's hand slides over her own. Rachel tilts her head in question, but Quinn simply smiles, a true smile. One that actually reaches her eyes. They seem to sparkle more noticeably in the sunlight.

"You should get some rest," Quinn suggests, her smile turning almost coy at Rachel's heated blush. She doesn't remove her hand. "We have a long way to go."

Rachel dismisses her immediate thoughts of home, where she dreadfully awaits a summer of hell, and relishes the warm feel of Quinn's hand intertwined between her fingers. She falls asleep shortly thereafter with a grin on her face.

* * *

Rachel first realizes something's off when they pass by a sign plastered in big black letters, _Welcome to Texas_. And it's odd, because they should be on their way to Lima, but… Somehow they're back in Texas, which is in the complete _opposite _direction they're supposed to be taking.

"Uh… Quinn?"

They had been driving nonstop over the last day or so, and for some unfathomable reason Rachel didn't even notice they had passed through three different states without coming to the conclusion that they were not, in fact, heading back to Lima.

When Quinn simply _hmm's _in return, Rachel's suspicions rise.

"Where are we going?" she all but demands, somewhat peeved that she hadn't been included in this spur of the moment decision. It completely baffles her.

Quinn's answering eyebrow quirk only irritates Rachel even more. "You'll see," is all she says.

Rachel huffs and crosses her arms, sinking into her seat.

They take turns driving every few hours, leaving Texas and then roaming the highways of New Mexico, where they rest for the night. It isn't until they're in the far outskirts of Arizona when it finally dawns on Rachel, the realization slamming into her more than any car accident ever could.

She turns tearful eyes toward the unknowing blonde. "Quinn…"

Quinn's lips pull back into a restrained smile, but she doesn't respond, and they continue to drive up north until Rachel's suspicions are officially confirmed.

They're going to the Grand Canyon.

* * *

"You can stop looking at me like that, you know," Quinn throws at her uncomfortably, causing Rachel to grin even wider, teeth and all. She assumes that's the look Quinn is talking about. But she honestly can't help it. Her face has permanently molded into a combination of wide, teary eyes, grand smile, bulging cheeks and creasing lines. It's not a coincidence that she can't stop staring at Quinn either.

"Seriously, Rach. That's kind of creeping me out."

"Okay, okay," Rachel relents, forcing herself to look away. The smile doesn't vanish though. "I just… I can't believe this. I can't believe we're actually here."

They had been hiking for the last hour, having stopped to rest at one point where the view of the canyon could be appreciated at a distance, but Rachel had refused to stay anywhere for too long without seeing the landscape for its full beauty. Looking down into the vast wilderness of rocks, steep slopes and colors of black, gray, and red, Rachel will admit that the vision is beyond breathtaking, but somehow her eyes continue to find a way back to Quinn's face.

"Rachel!"

Rachel ducks her head. "Sorry!" she exclaims, jerking her gaze back to the front. "In all honesty I just can't thank you enough."

"Once is enough, Rach," Quinn says softly, and Rachel turns to look at her again. "I know it's not exactly how you had imagined it."

"No, it's better."

"You're just saying that."

"While I admit the outcome isn't what I expected, I'm not simply saying that," Rachel counters, gesturing in front of her towards the shades of pink, yellow, and orange devouring the sky. "Besides, I do believe my original plan was to come during a sunset. All I would need then is a kiss."

Quinn's eyes widen slightly, otherwise she keeps her face impassive. "Good thing it'll still be here next time you come."

"Yes. I suppose so."

Rachel is watching Quinn intently again, only this time she's very aware of the traces of pink smoothing over the other girl's face. Rachel stares at it for several seconds, knowing she's making the blonde uncomfortable once more, but not really caring. She leans over and presses her lips to Quinn's cheek.

Quinn jumps up in surprise, holding a hand to the spot Rachel had just kissed. "What the hell was that?" She doesn't sound angry. Just… surprised.

"A kiss," Rachel says matter-of-factly, holding a proud smile. "Now I can say I've accomplished everything on that list."

The disbelief gradually slips from Quinn's face as it morphs into a curious look. "That wasn't a real kiss, Berry."

"Of course it was."

"It doesn't count unless it's on the lips."

This time it's Rachel's turn to blush. "Are you insinuating that you want me to kiss you?"

"I'm not insinuating anything."

Rachel eyes Quinn skeptically, the urge she had felt that one night in their motel room coming back in brutal force, and Rachel immediately recognizes it as desire. She _wants _to kiss Quinn. And if her sixth sense is correct, Quinn wants to kiss her, too.

"Perhaps I will then," Rachel murmurs, just loudly enough for Quinn to hear. She takes a step forward, smiling slightly as she hears the hitch in Quinn's breath, the unknowing flicker in her eyes, and Rachel acknowledges this as permission to move a little closer, their faces just inches apart.

"You're not really thinking about –"

Rachel isn't sure what it was that caused her to make such a bold move – she's fairly certain it's the ball of yearning bubbling deep inside her – but in the next instant, her lips are on Quinn's, and the shock of it is so great that she pulls away only seconds later.

"Maybe…" Quinn's breathes heavily, hands clutched firmly around Rachel's waist as Rachel brings a hand up to cover Quinn's cheek. "Maybe we should try that again. In case that one's not counted either."

Rachel can only nod in affirmative, ducking her head a little before moving in on the other girl, their lips meeting once again. This time the process is slower, more planned as they move in sync with one another. Rachel grasps for anything she can hold onto – Quinn's hair, her neck, the hem of her shirt – until she simply settles for the neck, leaning forward on her toes for a better angle.

A soft moan reverberates against her lips, snapping Rachel out of her dazed state as she pulls back before things become too heated. The disappointed whimper is almost enough to change Rachel's mind. She pecks Quinn's lips once – twice – before her thumb brushes across her bottom lip, eyes searching the blonde's for any signs of regret.

All she sees is a smile.

"What now?" Rachel asks gently, smiling back in a blissful high. Her entire body is essentially buzzing in ecstasy.

Quinn merely shrugs, pulling the brunette into a loving embrace as she answers, "I don't know," and breathes into Rachel's hair. "I guess anywhere we want to go."

Rachel nods imperceptibly against her shoulder, remembering Quinn's earlier statement all those nights ago. "So…" she trails off and traces a finger over Quinn's back in thought. "From Paris and beyond?"

Quinn's answering chuckle ripples through both their bodies. Rachel holds on tighter.

"And beyond," Quinn agrees.


End file.
